


Ashes and Dresses

by FredGeorge123



Series: ASOUE mostly one shots [4]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Carmelita is a Mess, Child Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 06:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredGeorge123/pseuds/FredGeorge123
Summary: My name is Carmelita Spats.





	Ashes and Dresses

My name is Carmelita Spats. I am five years old. My mother is Selene Spats. My Father is Thomas Spats. Today was my first day of school. It was very different from home. It was strange. I know school is probably different from home but I didn't know how different it would be.

The driver left me. My mother and father were too busy. They always are. I have red wavy hair tied into a messy ponytail. I wore a green dress. The skirt was dark green and the shirt was a lighter shade. I wore leggings and brown boots. I don't know how to tie my lace properly so I cut them off and pray that my mother never sees them. I'm always either neat or messy. Today I was messy. That was because my mother was out. When she sees me as messy then she shout and mix me up saying that I was a disgrace.

The teacher smiled at me. The only person who usually smiles at me was Ms Cordelia. Ms Cordelia is my mum's sister. They always argue. I used to think adults always argued whenever they saw each other. Mum argues when she sees Father. Mother argues when she sees Ms Cordelia. Dad argues when he sees Ms Cordelia but not as much as when he sees Mother or when Mother sees Ms Cordelia. Sometimes a some people come into the house. I don't know them but I see them. One of them is a tall man with brown hair. He waves me and smiles at me but Mum sends me to my room and they all talk downstairs. I never listened to them. I think they probably argue. Because I've seen the only adults in my life always don't that.

But at the school there were a lot of adults an none of them argued. Maybe if you're related then you argue and grown up then you argue. I can't say just related because I couldn't dream of arguing. Mother would kill me if I did.

At the start of school I waited at the Principal's office. I learnt that word today. Principal. A principal is in charge of the school. My teacher came a while later and smiled at me. She said her name was Ms Renese.

Ms Renese asked me what my name was. I told her my name was Carmelita Spats. I didn't tell her that my father named me. Mother said that children shouldn't talk more asked. She said I had a nice name. No one ever said I had a nice name. Then again, hardly anyone talks to me. Maybe if they had more time than they'd say I had a nice name.

She asked me how old I was. I told her I was five. I didn't tell her my birthday which was on October twenty-one. Mother said that children shouldn't talk more asked. I didn't tell her that we didn't do birthdays. Father said that there was no reason to talk about our personal lives.

Personal. I leaned that word a week ago. It means centre about one's self, group or community.

She asked me what was my favorite colour. I said it was grey. I didn't tell her I decided that grey was my favourite colour a month ago. Mother said that children shouldn't talk more than asked. I didn't tell her that I decided grey was my favourite when I saw the ashes in the fireplace. Father said that there was no reason to talk about our personal lives. I didn't tell her grey was my favourite colour because it wasn't like pink with was the colour of blisters or red which was the colour of blood or black which was the colour of the unknown or purple which was the colour of bruises or like any other colour. I said to myself that I'd just be annoying her then like Mother and Father were always annoyed by me.

Ms Renese asked and asked me a few more questions. Finally she took me to class. There were bunch of kids. I felt very shy. I always feel quite shy but I have never been shy in front of children. Mostly because I've never seen other children. Maybe if I saw more children then I'd be less shy. I was told to sat next to a girl with short black hair and green eyes. She was very unhappy looking. I felt shy. I didn't look at her before because I wasn't concentrating on her so I didn't know if she was unhappy from before or not from before. Maybe see was unhappy because of me. Mother and Father always were.

After a while she complimented my hair. So maybe she wasn't unhappy because of me. I felt glad at that thought.

 

My name is Carmelita Spats. I am seven years old. My mother is Selene Spats. My father is Thomas Spats. I have been in school for two and a half years. I have learnt that my life isn't normal. It is, in fact, very different from the other kids. No one has found out that my life was different and now I'll make sure they don't find out.

The other kids' parents do not go on business trips for days at a time. The others kids' parents aren't extremely rich. The other kids' parents don't hire maids to take care of them. The other kids' parents don't drink this liquid, at least not no stop, which makes the drinker after weird and not remember anything after sleeping. The other kids' parents don't argue non stop. The other kids' parents aren't unhappy or annoyed by them non stop. The other kids' parents talk to them. The others kids' parents have parties for them and listen to them. The other kids' parents don't hit them.

I guess my parents' don't hit me a lot. I think it's a monthly thing.

I quietly pushed myself on the swings. I was wearing a dark blue long sleeves shirt and a white short skirt and green sneakers. I don't care how I like look. I have a lot of frilly and pretty dresses but I couldn't wear them in school. I don't have many normal clothes.

I don't have any friends either. I don't know how to make friends. I dislike parent-teacher meetings. My mother gets angry at my marks and at the fact I have no friends. She says that it's my fault. She doesn't say more. She leaves. All that is left is me, red mark and my thoughts. I like red marks. They disappear much faster than blue marks or purple marks. As for my father... Well, he doesn't care. I don't know which I dislike more. Not caring or caring too much.

My marks are not especially good. It's too mixed up. I am good at remembering words yet I am not good at remembering spellings. I am good at writing good characters but I am bad at writing stories. I am good at problem solving but I am bad at division. I am hopeless at Science but my History is good. My teacher is nice. She takes her time to help me. But I cannot miss the frustration and confusion. I am not good at everything yet I am not bad at everything. Nor am I only good at a few subjects or certain subjects. She doesn't know what to do. I don't either.

My mother is a good singer. She wanted me to be a good singer. I don't know how to sing. My mum gts angry at my singing. She would strike me. She would strike me because I disappoint her.

I feel like I disappoint everyone.

 

 

 

My name is Carmelita Spats. I am ten years old. My mother is Selene Spats and my father is Thomas Spats. I am to be sent to a boarding school. I couldn't believe it. I knew my parents disliked me but this much that they'd like to get rid of me.

I did something I didn't think I would ever do. I talked back to them. I begged them not to send me away. I promised I'd do good. I promised I'd get my grades up. I promised they'd me proud of me. But they didn't listen. I then got angry. I shouted at them that I was never a burden. That I never bothered them. At I was always at school or in my room. Then my mother started screaming and shaking me. I didn't stop. I had gone too far to come back. I shouted that I was never ever complain-y or sulky or rude or unsatisfied. Tears ran down my cheeks. In a broken voice I asked them I they ever loved me. My mother started to shout.

But then my father spoke.

"Does mud on a shoe complain or sulk or is rude or is unsatisfied?" He said slowly. My eyes widened. I shake my head. Not as an answer but a plea. A plea for it not to be true. A plea to stop. A plea to deny it.

He didn't stop.

"Yet who could love mud on a shoe?"

He left and Mother looked at me. She didn't say anything but just left. She left me and my thoughts. Not even a red mark. For some reason I wished she had left red mark.

I didn't cry. I didn't do anything. I just stared. And then I started wondering why I was unhappy to go.

 

  
My name is Carmelita Spats. I am eleven years old. My mother is none and my father is none. If I was but mud on their shoe then they were mud that I wiped on a rock and kicked into a river so it could simk to somewhere where no one would remember or care about them.

School is different from home. It's better than home but everything is better than that hellhole where that bitch and that mutt could bite each other necks for all that anybody could care. My driver dropped me. I have a driver because I am rich.

I am quite popular and the kids like me ( _they're all fake; it's an act. Who could like you?_ ). I wake up every morning and out on one of my nice dresses. I like gr- pink. I like pink. I wear pink dresses. I look adorable in pink dresses ( _ha! Pink doesn't even go with red hair_ ). My red hair is in ringlets and I look adorable ( _no, you look dumb (I look adorable, I look adorable, I look adorable_ )).

I am very smart. I am good at writing stories. They have amazing characters and there isn't need for anything to happen to hose characters when they are so cute and sweet like me. I am good a solving problems ( _yet you can't solve your own?_ ) that all the teachers admire me and want me to solve all their problems but they know my time is very valuable and precious so they didn't want to waste it.

I'm good at poetry. I love writing poems about myself.

"C is for 'cute,' " I would sing so everyone could admire my voice (my mother disliked my voice. But I don't care about her), "A is for 'adorable'! R is for 'ravishing'! M is for 'gorgeous' ( _I was always bad at spelling and my father hated it. But he isn't the boss of me_ )! E is for 'excellent'! L is for 'lovable'! I is for 'I'm the best'! T is for 'talented'! and A is for 'a tap-dancing ballerina fairy princess veterinarian'!"

I look at the mirror. I am valid. I am valid. I am valid.

 

 

 

My name is Carmelita Spats. I am twelve years old. My mother is a Queen and my father is a King. I am a princess.

I am wearing a pretty pink dress. I love pink. Not icky colours like green or brown. I look adorable in pink. I am very pretty. I have pretty red hair which everyone says is pretty when they see it. I tell them that I know it's pretty. I have a lithe and delicate build which is pretty like a doll. I am also the perfect height of five foot three. I have small feet that are pretty and delicate hands which are also pretty. I am the prettiest person ever to exist.

I am very talented and the queen of the school. It's because I'm so perfect. Everyone loves me even those who was jealous of me. I can't blame then for being jealous of me.

I am good at dancing. I am pretty. The teachers adore me. They wished they could give me gifts like pink dresses and candy but they know that the other kids would be immature, jealous babies.

I am very modest. I love talking about myself because there is nothing more interesting than me. I love everything about me. My talent, my smartness, my looks, my personality. Everything.

(Because no one would love me so I might as well love myself.)


End file.
